


Earl Grey

by Mithen



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-07
Updated: 2010-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The replicators are offline and Jean-Luc is annoyed even <em>before</em> Q decides to stop by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earl Grey

  
"Tea. Earl Grey. Hot."

The replicator made a forlorn _booping_ noise and fell silent again.

No tea appeared.

Captain Jean-Luc Picard quietly muttered a Gallic curse and tapped his communicator. "Engineering. Status on the replicators?"

Geordi La Forge's voice was polite, but Picard could hear the strain in it. "Probably another six hours until they're back on-line, sir."

"Which is fifteen minutes less than the last time you asked, sir," Data's voice cut in smoothly.

"Yes, I--"

"And thirty-three minutes less than the time you asked before that."

"Yes, thank you. Carry on," Picard said hastily, closing down the channel before Data could continue.

"_Tea. Earl Grey. Hot,_" said a voice behind him, mimicking his cadences. "Honestly, Jean-Luc, do you ever try _anything_ new?"

Picard massaged the spot above his eyebrow where a headache was starting to develop as Q sauntered around to the front of the desk. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked acerbically.

Q raised an eyebrow. "I sensed your distress across the dimensions, Jean-Luc. Your soul cried out to mine in its anguish, and I was forced to respond. For you see..." His voice dropped to its most portentous as he leaned on the desk toward Picard, "..._we share a bond, you and I._"

Then he straightened abruptly and clasped his hands behind his back, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Either that or I was bored and decided to stop by. Your choice." His innocent look at the sour scowl Picard gave him made him look like a demented cherub.

"I am not 'in anguish,'" Picard said. "I am merely annoyed that the replicators are still offline."

Q made a _tsking_ noise, shaking his head. "My original statement stands, Jean-Luc. Why drink that 'Earl Grey' concoction yet again when I am here, ready to fetch you the most delectable libations from all the dimensions?" He turned his eyes to the ceiling and threw his hands out. "Ask and it shall be yours, _mon capitaine!_ Shall I procure for you the nectar of the golden Xawale flower of Gema VI, which blooms but once every century? Or perhaps a draught of water from the Well of Eternity in the dimension of Jasalel, rumored to taste like distilled true love?" Q twirled around once in an transport of glee. "I know! I can fetch for you a cup of the saliva of the violet-furred phleevia, which is said to make any who drink it entirely irresistible, in addition to multiplying their...stamina a hundredfold." He leered at Picard and waggled his eyebrows, then snapped to military attention and gave a crisp salute. "Name it, _mon capitaine_, and however exotic or legendary, I swear it shall be yours this very moment."

Picard looked up from his paperwork and opened his mouth.

"I know," sighed Q. "_Tea. Earl Grey. Hot._," he said in unison with Picard. "You really have no sense of adventure _at all_, Jean-Luc," he added with a disappointed pout. "But tea you have asked for, and tea it shall be. Earl Grey," he sighed. "And hot."

He snapped his fingers, and a teacup appeared in front of Picard. Picard eyed it dubiously, then picked it up and sniffed as Q mimed being deeply hurt at his distrust. A cautious sip, and the taste of tea and bergamot filled his mouth, hot and soothing. Despite his best intentions, he sighed slightly, and Q leaned forward, eyes sharp with anticipation. "Well?"

"Acceptable," Picard declared, and Q managed to look affronted and delighted at the same time, a feat surely only the omnipotent could pull off.

"_Acceptable_," he sniffed. He waved his hand and another steaming teacup appeared. He sat down and picked it up, one pinkie delicately extended. ""Shall we have a spot together, old chap?"

Picard ignored him and took another sip of tea. It was just the right temperature, with a rich, deep, somewhat astringent flavor complemented by the perfect touch of citrus tartness. The teacup, he noted, was the same design as the fine Limoges teacups his grandmother had always used. It was, in fact, the most exquisite cup of tea he had ever consumed.

But he was certainly not going to give Q the satisfaction of admitting it.


End file.
